


Call of the Void

by pocket_infinity



Series: Flame & Frost, Heart & Soul [9]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Child Loss, F/M, Family Loss, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26607307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocket_infinity/pseuds/pocket_infinity
Summary: In which the royal family suffers a terrible, terrible loss
Relationships: Grimm/The Pale King (Hollow Knight), The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & The Pale King, The Pale King/White Lady (Hollow Knight)
Series: Flame & Frost, Heart & Soul [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857532
Comments: 49
Kudos: 133





	1. The Call

**Author's Note:**

> “When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair. But most are just unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy.”  
> -Griffin McElroy

It had all happened so fast.

One moment, Ghost was standing with their back to Hollow, the two locked together as they fought. The next, their mask was left in two clean halves on the floor, cleft in twain by a stray slash of Soul. The third saw the murderer impaled on no fewer than seven nails by Hollow’s hand, and one final moment saw them, as well as all but one person in the room, vaporized in a flash of light.

And then it was just Hollow, alone as their chest rose and fell rapidly. The sound of rain slowly came back into reality as time marched, and the sound of Hollow crashing to their knees came after that. They picked up what was left of their sibling’s head in their hands, their whole body shaking as they watched smoky bits of void waft away from it. As they tried to click the two halves of the mask back together, ink-black tears began to roll down their face, the pitter-patter of those droplets blending into the sound of the rain.

This couldn’t be it. This _couldn’t_ be it. It was just one little thing, just one stray slash, just one attack, and it— it… 

It took Ghost away from them.

Hollow’s hands finally stilled. Holding the fractured halves of their sibling’s mask together, they bent down to bonk heads with it one more time, to know that feeling one more time. It was as comforting as ever. The older twin—the only twin, now—let the two pieces separate once again as they ran a finger over the crack in their own head… maybe Ghost would say they finally matched. Hollow chuckled at the thought before it dissolved into sobbing as they sat alone on that cold, metal floor.

A few long minutes passed before they pulled in a deep breath, lifting their head as they began to rise back to their feet, cradling what little was left of their sibling in one arm while they picked up their nail with the other.

These people, these twisters of Soul, these traitors who had taken the gift given by their king and mangled it as a tool to be wielded against his _child…_ they chose this path themselves. So Hollow would choose one of their own. They would all rot, and so would their precious sanctum.

Hollow dug their nail deep into the ground, twisting it to go deeper and deeper and deeper until it came all the way up to the end, and only then did they let their Soul flare into it. Massive nails emerged from the floor, the walls, the _everywhere_ , really, twisting and bending metal as they grew larger and larger. The screeching of metal on metal was loud enough to ring through the whole city as they came to poke at the ceiling above Hollow. The twin took another breath in, raising their hand once more. Well… nothing left to lose.

And with that, they slammed their hand down on their nail, driving it that last bit in and allowing the Soul-forged nails to truly reign free as they huddled down to hold their sibling’s head. Bits of ceiling crashed down around them, first, followed quickly by the shattering glass. The sound of chains snapping and elevators plummeting to a quick destruction came next, and then it was time for the walls to come down. More metal crashed, cracked, twisted, and tore every second, and there were only a few more minutes of the hellish tumult before the floor beneath Hollow gave out, letting them plummet down and down as the building quickly followed.

When they came back to any form of sentience, it was in total darkness—not the type of darkness formed by rubble, no, but the kind formed by the suffocation of light. The kind formed by Void. They rolled over, and there was Ghost, their face not that of their adult self, but of them as a child, instead. The two of them, back in that abyssal egg, staring at each other.

 _Hello,_ was the first thought they shared.

 _I love you,_ was the second.

Hollow jolted back to the waking world, their legs and chest pinned by some ungodly amount of weight. They went to lift their head slightly, only to slam it into a jutted-out piece of metal—and right on the crack, too. Their sibling’s horns were still in their hands, at least. They let their eyes close once more, simply listening with some far-off hope that they’d hear the sound of their sibling’s thoughts echo around their mind. 

All they got back was static.

* * *

As he pulled another rock off from the rubble, the Pale King’s blood came to a total standstill. It only began moving again when he saw Hollow turn slightly when rain began to hit their face, but it turned back to ice and stayed that way as he saw what they held clutched in their hands.

Grimm and the White Lady started talking a few moments later, but everything they said blended into some muddled non-sound as the wyrm’s vision tunneled in on those two halves of Ghost’s mask. Hollow lay there, alive, still, if only barely… honestly, the King couldn’t tell. No reading Soul through Void, and his foresight had been… less than accurate since the conflict with the Radiance. But Ghost… Ghost’s mask, clean in two halves, clutched desperately in their twin’s arms. Grimm and the White Lady were shouting, now.

The wyrm didn’t even blink; he simply brought his hands together and drew them apart, whispers of Soul echoing over the rain as dozens of nails lifted all the rubble away from Hollow, tossing both the Pale King and the White Lady off in the process. Grimm was only saved by a quick teleport.

The Lady glared at her husband—who mumbled out a brief “sorry”—before she got back to her feet and scaled over the rubble, dropping down next to Hollow a moment before Grimm. While the Troupe Master stood frozen and silent for a moment, the root gave no time for such reactions as she immediately rushed to her child’s side. Rain dripped from her roots and long-since soaked robes as she wrapped her hands around one of their arms, running it down to the wrist before she, too, froze at the sight of what they held in their hands.

Her tears melded seamlessly with the rain.

Hollow’s didn’t.

The abrupt boiling of rain signaled Grimm’s approach. He knelt down beside the one living child and the remains of the other and began gently rubbing Hollow’s head right between the horns. Choking on nothing but air, Grimm took in a breath to steady himself. Hollow needed him.

The Pale King was the last to appear at their side, taking slow, deliberate steps as a countermeasure to his body’s instinct to curl up into a ball and cry. When he did finally arrive, he kept his breathing at its steady, normal pace; he couldn’t afford to go to that familiar non-place. Not now. Not yet. He leaned in close next to Hollow and whispered four quiet words to them, inaudible to all others over the mixed sound of boiling rain and gentle sobbing from the White Lady.

“It isn’t your fault.”

That was what threw Hollow over the edge, their entire body shaking only to be interrupted by what almost seemed like coughs; in reality, they were broken, silent sobs. Void poured from their eyes in volumes comparable to the city’s rain, and every bit of the substance that made up their body began to twist and twirl into knots within them, only to pull tight and cut through themselves with an agonizing pinch.

* * *

Despite the tensions between the multitudinous kingdoms that made up the area around Hallownest, it seemed to take no time at all for everyone who ever was—or ever could be—to hear about the princeling’s passing. Grimm had hardly finished putting together a small memorial for Ghost in their room when the first letter arrived. And of all people to write and send a letter, he would not have expected the Radiance to be the first.

_Dear Wyrm, Root, and Brother,_

_I heard, recently, about the little Ghost’s passing. For the first time in my (long) life, I find myself at a loss for words. We all know how much of a light they were to not just us, but the peoples of all kingdoms, despite their deep connection to the dark below. I am afraid that I do not have anything that I can say to help abate the pain of this loss, but, as you people of Hallownest say, may their soul last eternal._

_My condolences,_

_The Radiance_

Grimm folded the letter back up in his hands, expression blank for a few moments as he turned to look at the memorial he’d just built. The two halves of their mask were neatly joined again as they rested within a little ring of flowers constructed by the White Lady; the Pale King had contributed the child’s old crown to rest upon their head. Ghost had long outgrown the thing, but still… It was a good addition.

Pinching the letter within his hands, Grimm’s arms began to shake gently as he gripped tighter, tighter, and tighter yet still. His jaw clenched so hard that some part of him felt that something in his mouth was ready to break. This shouldn’t have happened. He should have been there, should have been ready to take that blow; how the hell could he have been so _stupid_ to allow them to go on even one mission without himself or the root or the wyrm or Dryya or _someone!_ _Yes,_ they were qualified, _yes,_ they were there to fight the Blackwyrm, _yes_ Ghost had experience, but he _knew_ that they were going into a place full of deranged spellcasters, and he _knew_ they had never fought anything like that before, so how could he have been such a fool?!

He let the letter fall from his hands before balling them into fists. He had done so much. He had done _so much_ to keep them safe, only for it to be wiped away by one stupid mistake!

Heat began to build within his hands.

It was just… of all people, of all things, it was _Ghost,_ and maybe that was what hurt the most. Sweet little Ghost, whose only crime had been the occasional prank. They were too good. Sure, death was death, and it was familiar, but Grimm had never lost a _child_ before.

His hands caught fire as he slammed one of them into the wall. The whole room—and the hall beyond, too—shook from the force, a deep hum resonating through the palace as the walls vibrated back to stillness.

“Damn it,” he sighed, the fire cooling back down to nothing.

He pulled himself back upright with a deep breath, closing his eyes tight before stepping out of the room. Brumm had raised and lost other Grimms before him; of all others, well… he was the obvious pick.

* * *

The White Lady knelt next to a small, near-black flower in her gardens, gently holding its bent head up with one finger while Dryya waited by her side. The knight had long since been on her knees, sword resting along her lap and hands placed upon her knees. Her head was bowed, and her eyes were closed gently.

“This one was their favorite, you know,” the root murmured.

Dryya’s head swiveled to the flower as her eyes slid open. “Was it?”

“Indeed. They never told me why, but I think they liked the color.”

“That seems plausible. They always did like the dark.”

“Yes,” the queen said, letting the flower droop once more. “Remember how they used to go around putting out palace lights for fun?”

“They insisted upon duels in near-total darkness, too,” Dryya smiled.

The White Lady smiled as well, but it was tainted by quirks and twitches trying to pull it back into a frown. She caved, finally, letting the expression fall as her eyes watered.

Dryya took one of her hands. “I know,” she said.

The queen nodded in response, tears falling from her eyes when she finally blinked. “Dryya, you’re a soldier. You’ve lost people. How do you move on from this?” She asked.

“You don’t,” Dryya replied, squeezing the root’s hand. “You learn to carry on.”

“How?”

Dryya recoiled a slight bit at the question, looking her queen in those crystal blue eyes. “I… don’t really remember anymore.”

“I apologize,” the White Lady said, wiping away her tears. “I simply… I don’t know what to do here, Dryya.”

“Nobody does.”

“U-um,” a small bug mumbled out from behind them.

Dryya and the White Lady both snapped back around, Dryya holding her sword to face the intruder.

“Sorry,” the little pillbug said. “I just- here.” They extended a letter out towards the queen as Dryya’s sword slowly retreated.

“Thank you,” the root replied softly, taking the letter and tearing the top open as the bug scurried away. “I think you may have scared them,” she continued, glancing at Dryya out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, they startled me, so…” Dryya replied, bringing the tword to rest on her lap again. “What does it say?”

The root wiped her eyes once more. “Just a moment,” she said, reaching into one of the pockets of her robes and removing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. She cleared her throat.

“Root (and Wyrm and Grimm),

“I heard about Ghost. I’m sorry. I know how difficult the loss of a child can be, so come by for tea some time soon. Being around others makes it a little less painful.

“—Herrah.” The White Lady finished, taking off her glasses just in time to prevent tears from getting on them.

Dryya nodded, staring at the ground in silence for a moment. “Will you go for tea?”

“It wasn’t a request,” the White lady replied, cracking some semblance of a smile between tears.

“When do you wish to leave?” Dryya gripped her sword by its hilt and slipped it into its sheath.

“I don’t know,” the root replied, bringing a hand back to the flower. “I’d like to stay for a little while longer, though.”

* * *

The Pale King sat in his workshop in silent solitude, idly twisting a gear into place with a screwdriver, his face so blank he could’ve been mistaken for one of the dozens of statues of him. He kept twisting and twisting, letting the gear slip into the machine perfectly, and then he kept twisting after that, his eyes directed towards the contraption but entirely unfocused. There was a cold familiarity to the action, the repetitive nature of simply twisting the screwdriver making it so easy to grow distant from himself and enter that nothingness in his own head.

The wyrm jolted backwards as the machine exploded into a thousand little parts, the overtwisting of the gear finally catching up. Putting his screwdriver down on the table with a sigh, the King turned his chair around to face the rest of his workshop. Echoes of metal spinning to a stop or clinking off of hard stone echoed around the chamber as he gazed around it for a few moments. It had certainly gotten brighter since he’d stopped experimenting with Void; he didn’t even need his own light to see things anymore. He smiled briefly before it cut right back to a frown as a memory flooded his mind.

He opened the door after a long, exhausting day of court and paperwork and meetings—so exhausting, in fact, that he hadn’t looked down when he walked in, and thus hadn’t noticed the little child sequestered off close to his desk until he tripped over them. And there little Ghost was, waiting patiently in the darkness, seemingly undisturbed when the Pale King had tripped over them. The state of calm didn’t last long, though, for as soon as they became aware of their father’s glow, they went right back to finding every possible way to prank him.

The wyrm snapped back to the present moment, alone in the grey room. Nothing but him, his light, and the dozens of little machines scattered about. The darkness he’d grown so accustomed to after years spent working with Void was so, so very absent. Too much was visible.

He rubbed his eyes, sighing, and merely stared down at the corner of one of his various retired moulds he’d once used to construct the Kingsmoulds. What was perhaps a few minutes passed—it got hard to tell when he was like this—and he found his eyes quickly unfocusing from the point. His mind didn’t take long to lean into the motion as well, quickly diving, just like his vision had, into a state of unfocused nothingness. A familiar emptiness. And one by one by one, the rest of his senses slipped into that semi-inactive state. His ears stopped listening; his shell stopped feeling; his nose stopped smelling. He grew statue-still as he gazed at the spot.

Hours, minutes, moments, seconds, what was the difference? All the same in this non-space.

A royal retainer meekly entered the room at one point, carrying a plate of his favorite vegetables—likely at the White Lady’s request—and said a few words that were never heard by their statue of a King. They slipped in and quietly set the plate down on the table behind him before creeping back out, averting their gaze from his entire figure.

When they returned twelve hours later with a new plate of food, they found him the same way. The old plate was completely unchanged, save for a slight bit of dust accumulating on it. The retainer silently swapped the two, this time depositing a letter as well.

Another twelve hours, and they returned, carrying yet another plate and yet another letter. They set both down gently on the table before picking up the other plate, just like the last time, before they stared at their king for a moment. With a sigh, they returned the plate to its position on the table and straightened their posture.

“My king,” they said, their voice flat and deferential.

No response.

“My king?” They asked, stepping closer and extending a hand out slightly.

Nothing.

“King?” They reached closer.

Nothing.

“Are you there, my liege?” Their hand was inches away from him.

Nothing.

They gently tapped the edge of his arm, and the wyrm jumped back, pulling in a gasp so sharp it could cut steel.

“Yes?” The Pale King asked, returning to a stiff posture with those sharp, royal eyes.

“I- I apologize, my liege,” the retainer replied, taking no fewer than four steps back, “it merely seemed that you hadn’t moved in at least 24 hours, and I had started to worry, as foolish as that sounds, about—”

The King lifted his hand. “You have not caused us any harm or trouble.” He looked at the table. “Thank you for the food. Leave both plates, if you would.”

“Of course, my liege,” they replied, bowing and rushing back towards the door.

“Oh,” the Pale King said, “and is there any news as of late?”

“Only nobles and aristocrats upset about the abrupt shift in court and processing schedules, my liege.”

“Thank you,” the Pale King replied, turning back to the two plates. He picked up a fork and jabbed it into one of the pieces of broccoli as his stomach howled at him.

When he’d finished devouring his first plate, he finally tore open the first of the letters, signed “Lurien” on one side, with the flick of a claw.

_My liege, father of mind, Pale King of Hallownest,_

_I am sorry. Truly, truly, I am sorry. I struggle to find the right words to describe what, exactly, Ghost was to all of us; my initial intent was to fill the start of this letter with “Ghost was not only a lovely child, but a lovely ____,” but… too many things fit there. They were a lovely everythi—_

The Pale King pushed the letter down into the table before sliding it away from himself. He opened the next one.

_Pale King,_

_There are no words for what happened to Ghost, and you, I, my assistant, and every resident of every kingdom all know that it is a beyond cosmic injustice that it happened to—_

He pushed that letter aside, as well. Sinking his face into all four of his hands, he sighed. He was still—though not statue-still—for a long while before he finally leaned back and picked up his fork. There was still another plate left for him to eat.

* * *

Hollow hadn’t moved for three days. They had been set down in their bed with a few bits of gauze around their arms and legs, and they hadn’t moved since. The few vital signs that anyone knew how to check appeared perfectly normal, and they had moved when their parents found them, but since then…

They didn’t respond to speech, commands, whispering, shouting, touching, removing or adding bandages, poking at damaged shell. Nothing provoked a reaction. They simply laid there as if only half-alive, as if half of them was gone.

Because half of them was.

They heard every word, knew every sentence, concocted dozens of responses to each question, and were a silent listener when their parents came in to talk to them or hold their hand. The hand-holding was… comforting, to say the least. Especially Grimm’s, mainly due to the innate warmth of his shell.

This time it was their father giving three gentle knocks on the door before entering, followed closely by his wife and his husband. That was still a weird thought, Grimm being his husband now.

“Hollow?” The Pale King asked, stepping closer and taking one of their hands. “Your sibli-” he choked for a moment. “They finished the memorial in the City of Tears. Do you want to come to the reveal of it?”

They didn’t respond to it. They didn’t _think_ about it. They thought about the color of the ceiling above them, their current go-to whenever they were supposed to think about their missing half, and—

Oh. Now their mother was crying. Some deep part of their core implored them to spring up and pull her into a hug, to cry with her, to just let all those tears and feelings out between the two of them; but that would require thinking about it.

They stared up at the ceiling.

The hands of the root and their warmer father made their way to theirs, both overlapping with the Pale King’s as well as each other’s. The warmth was nice.

“We love you, Hollow, you know that, right? All of us love you so, _so_ much,” their mother said.

“Please come back to us,” Grimm added. Everyone was silent for a few minutes while they stared at Hollow.

“All right,” the Troupe Master said, pulling his hand away first. “If- if you can hear me and find the strength to come… we’ll be in the center of the City of Tears. At the fountain. If you can’t, we all understand.”

“We love you, Hollow,” the White Lady said, pulling her hand back.

“Ready?” Grimm asked, sighing.

“Wyrm?” The root added.

“Go a bit ahead. I’ll be with you in a moment,” the Pale King replied, nodding at them.

“We’ll wait just outside the door.” Grimm nodded.

“Thank you.”

Both of them gave one of the wyrm’s hands a squeeze before slipping out the door, leaving nothing but Hollow and their father. The Pale King rubbed the back of Hollow’s hand with his thumb as he climbed onto the bed.

“You know, I still remember when you and Ghost first hatched,” he said. “The happiest day of my life. I remember the way you cracked through that egg after so many tries, the way you tumbled into my arms, the way you looked at me. And then I remember your sibling, so little and small… my arms were too short to reach them, you know. Grimm had to get them. But I remember both of you, so sweet and so little, and I still see that little baby whenever I look at you. I know things won’t be the same for… well, anything, but… I miss you, Hollow. I really do.” He bent down closer to them, looping one of his arms around the much larger child as best he could.

“I love you, Hollow.” He said, pulling himself off the bed. He straightened out Hollow’s posture for them before giving their hand one last squeeze and departing. Quiet murmuring appeared from outside their door before slowly fading as the three royals moved down the hall. And with that, Hollow was alone again.

The alone time was the hardest, honestly. Being alone meant having nothing to judge, nothing to critique or focus on ignoring other than the obvious. That left only the ceiling for them to stare at and think about for what was going to be hours. 

They lasted about twenty minutes before caving to the reflex in their mind. One last check couldn’t hurt, right? Who knew, maybe they’d somehow hear someone new on that void-forged link between them and their sibling. So Hollow listened.

They got static back. Same as usual, nothing different at all compared to last time because why would it be different? Why would it be anything else? No, it was just static. Static, static, static, endless noise that just filled their ears, just more _static—_

Wait.

Static. Not silence.

Hollow sat up in their bed.


	2. The Answer

Hollow’s breathing shifted from a melancholic near-nothing to rapid, frantic half-gasps over the course of a few seconds, their eyes flicking around the room as they listened closer and closer to the static. It grew louder and louder within their head, almost echoing around the seemingly hollow space as they searched it deeper and deeper. A sign of something,  _ anything, _ was all they needed.

_...lo… ou… I… ove… yo… _ appeared deep within the core of their head. Hallucination or true sound, it didn’t matter. It was something.

Hollow flung themself out of bed in an instant, their cloak flaring out and immediately flowing behind them as they strode over to their door. Head angled down, they marched out of the room, catching the stare of every single person even remotely near them. The gentle tapping of their feet on the palace’s metal floors grew louder as they went from a walk to a jog to a run, finally transitioning into a full-blown sprint once they made it beyond the palace’s gates. The almost gravel-like stone of the Ancient Basin crunched and ground against itself below their feet as they moved even faster, focusing on the end goal: their birthplace.

The vague cacophony of Soul whispered around them, and all they had to do was blink in order to teleport a few dozen feet ahead, picking their sprint right back up without missing a beat. A few more steps, and they did it again—and once more after that, too. The teleports grew closer together, fewer steps to interrupt them until it settled into a blisteringly fast pace of only one step between each teleport.

They came to a skidding stop in front of that familiar door marked with the symbol of their father. Even with their height, it still managed to loom over Hollow as they gazed up at it for a few moments before they mustered up the courage to approach.

They stood a few feet away from the door with nothing but themself and their cloak, and focused what Soul they had left. The familiar whispering appeared around them, and they blinked, teleporting forward—

Only to bounce right off the door.

They sat up with a huff, dusting themself off as they came back up to their feet. They focused their Soul once more—the leftovers from the leftovers, this time—and unleashed it in a single, grand nail piercing the ground as it rocketed towards the door. The moment its tip made contact with the door, it shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces, all falling to the floor before they disappeared into wisps of Soul.

Hollow narrowed their eyes and walked up to the door, throwing a punch at the stone. That went about as well as expected, resulting in nothing but a flare of pain in their hand. After a brief recoil, they turned back to the door and gave it a halfhearted headbutt.

They needed their father.

* * *

The rain seemed to pour heavier than ever as the Pale King, Grimm, and the White Lady, made their way from King’s Station to the center of the City of Tears. In all their time ruling Hallownest, neither the root nor the wyrm had ever seen quite so many people packed so tightly into one space, yet the crowd still parted in mere moments at the faintest glimpse of the King’s light.

The wyrm walked with his eyes closed for over half the time, partially to look semi-regal, but mostly to keep himself from crying. The city needed a king, not a grieving father.

But couldn’t he be both? That wasn’t illegal, now, was it? Hell, he  _ made _ laws… ah, but he wouldn’t—couldn’t, actually. A king had to be strong, a beacon of stability in times of crisis and mourning, even if all he wanted to do was recede back into his workshop for however long it would take for the world to fall to dust. At least he  _ looked _ royal enough with his eyes closed.

The White Lady had given up on trying to hold in tears from the moment she’d stepped into the rain. She wasn’t sobbing, no, but tears… well, rain makes for good cover, especially when it’s a downpour so hard that people can't see your face from over ten feet away. So she cried. It wasn’t like her bark or gown could’ve gotten any more soaked.

Grimm found his jaw clenching and unclenching as he forced himself to not chitter his mandibles at the spectators gawking at the three of them. The rain around him began to sizzle. They hadn’t even  _ known _ Ghost, not personally, so what right did they have to stare at the grieving family? They were in  _ mourning, _ so why couldn’t the citizens—wait. Ah. Right. They were the  _ Pale King’s _ citizens, and they were staring at their king, not the grieving family. That… made more sense.

The Troupe Master pulled in a breath and let it out again, the area around him cooling enough to let the rain land on his shell. Looking right, then left, and then right again, he found waves of figures shaking with sobs or staring straight ahead in a trance or simply hanging their head low. They hadn’t  _ known _ Ghost, sure, but they all showed up to the memorial nonetheless. People only tangentially touched by his child, yet they still grieved. That… that seemed about right for Ghost.

The three finally came to a stop in front of a freshly-constructed fountain in almost the exact center of the city. The design was elegant, almost seashell-like in the way the main pool of water bloomed out before spilling back into channels that brought the water back to the base of the statue it flowed from.

That statue was, of course, one of Ghost, carved from pure pale ore; they stood with their legs spread evenly apart, their signature cloak slightly parted. They held a nail in their right hand, its tip aimed at the ground, and their left was balled into a fist at their side. Their mask was angled back, horns aimed at the ground as they stared up at some unknown point in the ceiling.

On the base of the statue, often obscured by water, was a sign specially requested by the wyrm. Nobody—not Lurien, not Monomon, not Herrah, not Vespa, not the Radiance, not Grimm, probably not even the White Lady—could read the symbols etched into its surface. But they weren’t for them, anyways; it was for Ghost, written in a language long since forgotten by all but the most ancient of wyrms:

“May your light find rest in the darkness. May your darkness find peace in the light.”

The Pale King permitted himself to smile, however subtly, at the sign. The symbols perfectly matched what he’d given them. But he was a king, and a king had to give a speech to grieving subjects, not admire the work of the artists, no matter how much he wanted to. He walked up the steps to the podium with a slow, refined grace, clearing his throat as he turned to look out at the crowd.

He never had quite gotten used to the height brought on by a stage. From up there he saw not just his lovers, but… well, everyone, really. There was the entire Grimm Troupe, to start, and then there were Lurien and Monomon. Those ones were expected. But then there were Vespa, her guard, Herrah, an assortment of spiders and weavers, the Radiance, a group of moths, the mantis lords, their subjects, and even some of the brutes from the colosseum at the edge of the kingdom! He knew Ghost liked to travel, but… this many people? And they were all here to mourn his child.

“We…” he paused for a moment, staring at the ground before turning back to the statue of his… everything, really. He began again, his voice wobbling with each word: “We are gathered here today-” he came to a stop, choking on a knot in his throat.

His head fell forward into his hands as he scrubbed his eyes, and he swallowed hard before taking a deep breath, looking back at the hundreds of faces in the crowd. Well, if he had already destroyed his regal facade with the false start, he may as well give an honest speech…

“We all know why we’re here,” he began. “We all know the loss that we’ve suffered. I wish that I had some magnificent words to share with you all to make this pain simply disappear. I wish more than anything that I could have them back. We all know that that isn’t how these things work, though.

“What I do know is that they would want us to keep moving. If there was one thing Ghost did through each and every moment of their life, it was  _ moving. _ They went anywhere and everywhere, learning from anyone and everyone, meeting and caring for as many as they could along the way. So, for the sake of them and their memory, let us keep moving, as well. We won’t move on—not that it would be so simple if we even tried—but we will carry on. We won’t be tied down by chains of grief and sorrow; we shall move into tomorrow with the same conviction that they held. We may slow on some days, yes; we may pause for breath, yes; we may even feel like giving up at times,  _ yes, _ but we will never give in to that impulse. And if we do that, if we keep going not just for them but for  _ us, _ then their memory—and their soul—will last eternal.”

There was nothing but the downpour for a few moments before some face in the crowd whispered, “May their soul rest eternal.” The murmur quickly tore through the crowd as the Pale King stepped down from the podium.

“You did wonderfully,” his wife whispered as he came to stand next to her.

“It was beautiful,” Grimm added, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you…” he mumbled, closing his eyes; the rain took the spotlight for a while, the white noise giving him space to think within the crowd. How would things be now that Ghost was gone? No more cute little pranks, no more rejoicing when they came home and told the family about some new adventure, no more casual mentions of them during negotiations… and then Hollow. They had to get out of bed eventually, right? No, they definitely did, yet something still told the wyrm that they’d lie there for… well, as long as they wanted to. Maybe that was two minutes, maybe it was two centuries; gods, he wished he could know what went on inside that head of theirs.

“I… think I’m going to go for a walk,” the Pale King said, his voice hardly even a whisper. “Alone,” he added. Grimm and the White Lady glanced at each other.

“If you so wish, my wyrm…” the root replied. “Please be careful, though.”

“Of course, my root,” he replied, reaching up and squeezing her hand.

He peeled away from the two of them, beginning to slip—if you could even call it slipping with how quickly they parted for him—through the crowd, making his way in the direction of the stag station. Only when he’d moved through both the courtyard and the building did he finally pause, sighing. Alone again, finally. No crowds watching him, no foreign rulers to pretend for, no speeches to give… just space. Empty space, just him and the rain.

He looked up, water pouring out of where it had collected within his crown, and let the rain hit him. It ran along his shell, a close impersonation of the tears that he couldn’t seem to produce, no matter how much he needed to. His robes were well and truly soaked as he stood there, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if he should perhaps pay a visit to the lake above. No, others still needed him here; he couldn’t abandon his kingdom, let alone his family. He still had one child, after all, even if they were less than active at the moment. He looked straight ahead again for a moment, admiring the dozens of shining metal homes, before turning around.

Off to the side of the street, in a passage that he’d used many times to travel between the palace and the city, a figure cloaked waited. Tall and thin, leaned up against the wall, their shell an inky black, and their mask was—oh good gods, it was Hollow. Before he even realized it, he’d broken into a full sprint, nearly tackling his child when he made it to them.

“Hollow,” he said softly, hugging them close. “You’re up! You’re really up!” He pulled away, looking up at them as his expression turned to a soft smile. “Did… did you come to say goodbye to Ghost?”

“Ghost isn’t gone,” Hollow signed, their movements even more rigid and expressionless than usual.

The Pale King stood frozen for a moment. “Oh, Hollow…” He muttered, beginning to turn away. “I- I know it’s hard to process, but—”  
“Ghost isn’t gone.”

“My child, I’m so, so sorry. This has hurt all of us, but—”

“Ghost isn’t gone.”

“None so much as you. And I know that this will be hard—”

“Father, please listen: Ghost isn’t gone.”

“But you need to face this head-on… avoiding—”

“Father! Ghost is not gone!”

“It will only turn out worse in the long ru—” Hollow grabbed his face, forcing the wyrm to look at them before they started signing again.

“I know where Ghost is.”

“Hollow, please…”

They huffed. “Just follow me,” they signed, walking back down the corridor.

“Wait, wait, Hollow, please,” the Pale King said, stepping in front of them.

“I know where they are! Let me show you,” Hollow signed.

“Will it make you feel better if I do?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” they replied, stepping around him.

“Very well, then. Show me,” the Pale King replied, falling in behind them.

The two were silent as they stepped into the elevator, and that volume stayed relatively constant during the ride and subsequent walk. Wherever they were going was unimportant to the wyrm; if nothing, else, at least it would bring Hollow some form of peace. Though why they were in the Ancient Basin was a good question…

“Are you taking us to the palace?” The Pale King asked as they neared the entrance to the palace’s grounds.

Hollow shook their head, not bothering to turn around. They simply walked with their well-practiced straight posture and even steps. But how could they  _ not _ be going to the palace? That was the only thing in that direction. Well, the only thing other than…

_ Oh no, _ the Pale King thought as Hollow came to a stop over a passage running deep into the ground.

“No,” the Pale King said when the older twin looked at him. “Hollow, just- just  _ no. _ under no circumstance are either you nor I going down there.”

Hollow huffed at him, shaking their head. “Trust me.”

“Hollow,  _ no. _ I am not going down there, and neither are you. It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ll get there without you,” Hollow signed, towering over their father as they stared down at him.

“You’d never be able to get through the door, not in a thousand lifetimes,” the Pale King replied, narrowing his eyes.

“Fine,” Hollow signed, balling their hands into fists at their sides.

“Thank you,” the King sighed. “It’s good to know that even in times like these, you know how to keep a level—” he cut himself off with a yelp as Hollow pinned all four of his arms to his sides, lifting him well up off the ground. “Hollow! Put me down this  _ instant _ !” He shouted, flaring his wings out below his robes and fluttering furiously.

They didn’t procure any response, simply going down the passage in silence. The wyrm writhed against their grip, but they didn’t show the slightest hint of weakness; if they were making an effort to seem unfazed, they were succeeding with flying colors.

The buzzing of wings and frustrated grunts of a little pale wyrm filled the silence left by Hollow’s dead-quiet footsteps. They simply continued down the hall, letting their father light the way for them both. That door was getting opened, and it was getting opened  _ now, _ no matter how much father wanted to stop them.

The Pale King could feel the brand on his chest start to burn as the door drew nearer, and he went to smack at his child with his tail. “Hollow, I don’t want to hurt you, but I am  _ not _ going to let you open that door.”

_ Yes you will, _ Hollow thought as they drew nearer, keeping the Pale King facing away from the door. They stared up at the brand on its surface, less than fifty feet away now. They kept walking, step after step as the wyrm coiled his tail around their arm and tried to pull away. For a reincarnated wyrm, he really was a lot weaker than Hollow had expected—physically weaker, at least.

“That’s it,” the Pale King declared. “Hollow, I’m sorry, but you leave me no—ah!” He exclaimed as his child threw him far down the hall—far enough for the seal on the door to activate.

The door shook and rattled for a few moments until it split into two halves, glowing brighter and brighter. Hollow ran up to it, shoving the Pale King back towards the door as he tried to get up and run away. It vanished in a puff of Soul, and Hollow was out on the platform in an instant.

“Hollow, wait,” the Pale King said, reaching out.

They turned, looking him in the eye for a split second before they stepped forward, falling off into the Abyss.

“Hollow!” He shouted, scrambling up into a sprint and diving off the platform after them. 

He flung his robes off mid flight, bringing his wings together as he soared down, down, down into the darkness. If not for the paleness of Hollow’s mask, he would’ve never been able to see them. He opened his wings just enough to guide himself towards them before folding them back in, diving quicker until he collided with them mid air.

All four of his arms wrapped around his child as his wings beat faster than they had at any other point in his life. Hollow squirmed and wriggled as he brought the two of them to a halt and slowly began tugging them backup to the surface, the buzz of his wings filling the silent air. His child managed to pry one pair of arms off and slip through the other, though, and they continued their rapid descent back into darkness, followed by the Pale King yet again. 

He heard the thud of their landing, all echoes blocked by the oppressive darkness, and he dove down even quicker, falling like a pale spear in the night until the ground came into view. He flared his wings out, fluttering quickly to bring himself to a stop before turning to look around.

Hollow’s mask was barely visible as they sprinted off towards the sea of void. The Pale King gave chase, vanishing in a burst of light and appearing closer to them than before. 

They glanced back for a moment and doubled their pace, using their longer legs to their advantage as they reached the staircase of the lighthouse on the void sea. Taking three steps at a time, they bounded up around its exterior. 

The Pale King stopped, flaring his wings out once again before taking off, soaring up the side of the lighthouse to land on the staircase just in time for Hollow to come around the bend.

They hardly even slowed down as they came up to him, simply grabbing him by the hips and tossing him off the lighthouse before continuing their sprint. Their shell, their joints, their  _ everything _ begged for them to stop after spending days not moving, but they denied every request, pushing harder, going faster. Leaping and bounding, they went up and up until, finally, they managed to make it to the top.

They sprinted through the door and came to a grinding halt right in front of a retainer who stood next to the lever that controlled the massive lumafly lamp. Hollow gingerly picked them up and deposited them several steps to the right before slamming the lever to the other side.

The Pale King flew up to the top of the lighthouse, stumbling as he landed. Both him and Hollow panted furiously as they stared each other down—until the wyrm noticed the lantern, that is. He lunged forward, reaching out for the lever.

Hollow was quick to pounce back at him, planting their palm to his chest and shoving him back into the railing as they charged, bringing both of them outside. They coiled their arms around their father, squeezing so tight they worried for a moment about whether he could breathe or not.

A deep rumble shook the entire cavern, and Hollow and the Pale King looked out at the void sea simultaneously.

The first thing they saw was a massive, starless-night-black hand dripping with Void emerge from the sea and slam into the wall, its claws sinking deep into stone. Then came a second, digging into the opposite wall, and the sides of the cave began to crack and shake, stalactites falling from the ceiling as a pair of massive horns started to rise. One pair turned to two, which turned to three and then four before the true head of the creature began to rise. A shadow of a face, void pouring off of it, accompanied by a gargantuan body with another pair of arms, towered over the lighthouse. One white eye opened on the right side of its face. Then another below it, and a third below that, and a fourth, and then four on the other side in the same sequence.

The Pale King and Hollow, alike, stood frozen, staring at the massive creature—Hollow in awe, the Pale King in terror. 

Hollow’s grip loosened ever so slightly as they stared, and that was enough to snap the wyrm out of his trance. He burst out of their arms, sprinting over to the lever and powering the light back on. The wyrm almost smiled as he saw the thing recoil back at the light, but any bliss was cut off when it raised an arm.

A dark claw crashed through the wall of the lighthouse, flinging the Pale King back into the wall as it wrapped around the light. The metal and glass crunched and shattered in a single squeeze of its hand, all lights inside being snuffed out instantly. The abyssal creature tore it out of the lighthouse, further destroying the structure, and beheld the little thing in its palm for a moment before crushing it once again and letting it fall. There was a gentle splash when it hit the surface of the sea.

The creature pulled in close, its face many times the height of the space it looked upon. The two lower pairs of eyes couldn’t see anything but the lower lighthouse’s tower, and of the two pairs that remained, half saw within the tower, and the other two stared at Hollow intently.

The Pale King’s child cocked their head at the creature and waved; the wyrm himself lay on the floor of the lighthouse, his glow flickering. The collision was fine; it hadn’t hurt much, but the  _ Void, _ that thing’s  _ hand… _ he felt the Soul and light leaving him when he’d been hit.

The…  _ thing, _ whatever it was, shifted over, planting two hands on the shore and leaning in until its horns scraped the ceiling. Its eyes widened, and Hollow, similarly, turned to their father, rushing over within a second. They knelt beside him and grabbed his shoulders, staring into his eyes.

The Pale King reached back for Hollow, touching their face; he wasn’t dead—not yet, at any rate. His child glared back at the creature, and it pulled back, looking away as it brought all four arms closer to its chest. Hollow turned back to the wyrm as he coughed, and his light began to stabilize, albeit at a dimmer level. He pulled in heavy breaths, focusing on nothing but his child as he pulled them into a hug.

The creature pulled in close again, bringing down chunks of rock with its horns as it did, and the Pale King’s focus shifted. He moved to shove Hollow back behind him, mustering all the Soul he had left as he held up a hand, only for Hollow to grab it and pull it back down to his side. They sat him back down against the wall gently, pressing a hand to his chest for a moment.

“Stay,” they signed with the other before turning towards the creature.

“Hollow…” he muttered, far out of breath, “wait… don’t…”

They moved forwards, coming up to the edge of the destroyed lighthouse, and the creature held out an open palm for them. They glanced down before jumping onto it, and the creature pulled them close, mere feet away from its massive face. All of its eyes scrunched up slightly in what might be called a smile as the creature stared. Hollow stepped forwards, reaching out, and the being pulled them closer still, its wrist and face meeting. Their eyes closed fully as Hollow patted its head a few times.

_ Hello, Ghost, _ they thought.

_ Sibling! _ The creature replied, their entire body perking up, throwing Hollow off their hand. The creature scrambled for a moment to catch Hollow in one of the lower pairs.  _ Sorry. New body. Much bigger. _

_ I noticed. _

_ And I’ve got more arms, too! _

_ You do! _

_ And horns! _

_ So many horns. _

_ How many? _

_ Lift me up, and I’ll tell you. _ Ghost raised the hand Hollow stood on, and the older (though now much,  _ much _ smaller) twin pointed as they counted.  _ Four pairs. Eight total. _

_ Eight?! _

_ Eight horns, _ Hollow replied with a nod.

_ Eight horns…  _ Ghost repeated, slowly drawing Hollow closer.  _ Thank you for finding me.  _ They thought.

_ I’m sorry it took this long. _

_ I wasn’t even sure if the message was getting through to you. Couldn’t feel anything. _

_ Nothing? _

_ Nothing but me and the Void. _

_ Oh. Well, how did that feel? _

_ Same as always, just… deeper, this time. _

_ What do you mean “always”? _

_...I mean always. _

_ No, what do you  _ mean _ “always”? _

_ I mean always! _

_ No, but— nevermind, let’s just ask father. _ Hollow replied, and both of their eyes widened. Ghost nearly threw Hollow into the lighthouse as they brought them back.

_ Shit, _ they thought, staring at their father.  _ I’m sorry I’m sorry I didn’t mean to I’m sorry. _

“Father?” They signed, nudging him with their horns.

“I’m… I’m here, child,” the Pale King responded, looking at them. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll survive, but what happened between you and that thing? Did you talk with it?” The Pale King asked. Ghost pulled back at the words, looking away, and the Pale King flinched at the motion. Hollow sighed.

“ ‘It’ is Ghost,” they signed slowly.

“ _ Excuse me _ ?!” The Pale King shouted.

“It’s Ghost,” they repeated.

“I- wha- is it?” He asked, and Ghost approached once again, all eyes to turning to them.

“It is, dad,” they signed, their motions exactly as messy and rushed as always.

“Ghost… I- I’m so sorry, I just didn’t know it was you and I got scared so I turned on the light and oh dear gods I missed you!” The Pale King said, forcing himself to his feet and approaching—with a little help from Hollow, of course.

Ghost’s eyes scrunched up again. “It’s good to see you too, dad.”

“Father?” Hollow asked, stepping into view. “We were wondering if you know why Ghost got so big.”

_ Are you jealous about being the short one now? _

_ Shut up. _

“I- well- hold on, I just…” the Pale King sat down. “I just need a moment to take this in…”

“Take your time,” Ghost replied, bringing themself down to his level.

“Thank you,” the Pale King said, his breaths growing heavier as he set his head down in his hands.

“Father?” Hollow signed as he started pulling in sharper breaths, only to realize that he couldn’t see their hands. They poked him, instead.

“Just- I need a minute Hollow, please,” he said, his breaths shaky. His breathing turned to gasps and sobs not long after. Hollow took one of his hands, and he looked up, tears running down his face, finally.

“Why are you crying?” Ghost asked. “Isn’t- isn’t this a happy thing.”

“Ghost, you were  _ dead _ ,” The Pale King said. “You were gone and dead and none of us thought we would see you again. I’m just-” he wiped his eyes. “I’m just glad to see you again, even in this new form.”

“I love you, dad.”

“I love you too, Ghost.”

Hollow sat still next to their father for a few moments before finally signing, “Do you know why Ghost is big now, though?”

“Honestly? I have no clue,” the Pale King replied. “I’m sorry, children.”

“So you don’t know how to help me get back to normal size?” Ghost signed.

“I don’t…” he replied, looking away. “But we can figure it out.”

“Together?” Ghost asked,

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ghost is Not Gone, just Big babie now :))
> 
> but really, this was fun to write!! thanks for reading. if the angst caused you pain, then good >:)
> 
> also, just to elaborate on the Ghost-is-Shade-Lord thing: basically, if you remember back to the fic in this au about when they hatched, Ghost was almost dead. It was actually the void from the egg that did that, but it also ended up giving them a very, *very* deep connection to it, which allowed them to really just meld with it. since there were no other shades, it just became an all-Ghost Shade Lord.


End file.
